


Counting Silences

by Nina36



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nina36/pseuds/Nina36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, he counted Sam’s heartbeats, glad that  he could, that time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Silences

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: this ficlet follows the scene between Dean and Sam at the beginning of Mannequin III: the reckoning.

In the end there was always that thick silence, there were crazed heartbeats and abandoned houses that smelled all the same, like decay and fear.  
In the end, he counted Sam’s heartbeats, glad that he could, that time.   
In the silence surrounding him, he felt like the oldest man on earth and a little kid.   
Sam’s heart was strong, he knew that. He knew that heart like his own…but it was a muscle, contracting and expanding, as hell was taking Sammy away from him, again.  
In the end, part of him prayed. He didn’t really know who: God? Castiel? Buddha? He didn’t care. He just prayed: please, not now. Please, not again. Don’t take him away from me.   
Sam’s body was warm, like it had been the night before, when he had crawled on his bed, draped himself over him and kissed the doubts, his stubborn willingness to scratch the wall away, for a few hours at least. Sam had kissed him back, mumbling about him playing dirty, yelping when he had tickled his sides with his cold hands.   
His hands were still cold, even if he felt his head on fire, his heart bursting. Fear, he had discovered, burned…it was hot, in the pit of his stomach, scraping at his heart and making him grit his teeth.   
In the end, the silence always meant he had failed…like his dad did, like in Cold Oak, like in the Impala, after he had finally ganked Ruby and they had gotten off from miracle plane.   
He called Sam’s name, pleading, invoking him…because it was their lives, how it had always been.   
And Sam came back to him. Again.  
A breath, heartbeat slowing down, the silence filling with sounds, with life…with Sam.   
His presence, solid, real, because sometimes Dean Winchester doubted about reality, about everything…but not about Sam.   
In the end, it was a rush, fresh air hitting their faces as they left the house, relief making him deflate, tremble, shiver.  
In the end it was Sam, it would always be him: his body warm, against his, in the car, his voice muffled against Sam’s neck, fear making each word thick, painful and real: “Don’t…ever…don’t”  
Sam nodded, Sam understood. He hugged him back, his nose pressed against his hair, breathing him in, needing him, making sure they were both real.   
And the silence wasn’t deafening, for once. It was them and it tasted of coffee and tears and miracles.


End file.
